


** .*&£ \/ .*ffi^ %f 



♦ 4| 



W v 







4? »i*^' * V *.L 






~ **% 



»V «/ ^ ' 



--. '*o. "" * 







c°\ci&..% 



**6* 









•>*' */•-. 




0° 







v *^»\ «,*' 






K> #~% 
















A o' v '*rr^* a* -o^ ^.Too* ^o 






Ay * -.,-1 " <{,> ^ -.„„ .v. 



%/ 





•" %/ .*. 



." .4*** 



<► **T7i f <0 



V* ,> v 



'^L * 




0*V^*c 









o, *<>•** A 










^\o^^^ 




^ */«^* ^ 

^ " 1 ..^r 



^' 












\/*' 






AxauK-. ^f .*JMjg- W .7 



^ % • 

A 

» , » o 






:* 

i>«* 







? ^ 






o, "• . » • A 



<». *• 



■*«3fc 






4> o^S ^ 









p ^>, o^OlOO^* av ^ 




% ^ **i 



<» *<TYi* ,& 



;• .«? v *d 







iT « 



ft 




v-o* .1 



0~ . « • c **- 














c° »c^:» °o 






/ ^ 

^ ^ 











^ ''^'- \/ #fe %/ ^ 







^ 






*^% '/;.^\ M :fe\ 




"b v* : 




'q. 







',- » 



DROPPINGS 



FROM THE 



HEAET; 



OCCASIONAL POEMS, 



THOMAS MACKELLAR. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

SORIN & BALL, 311 MARKET STREET. 

1844. 



'€k**^***^ g*£ mam £^ 



T5 a a H 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by 

Thomas Mackelxar, 
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Eastern 

District of Pennsylvania. 



Merrihew & Thompson, Printers, 
No. 7 Carter's Alley, 



TO THE READER. 

Deep in my heart a spring is babbling up 

Of thoughts most sweet and pleasant unto me ; 

And when I dip and proffer thee a cup, 
Wilt thou, untasted, cast it far from thee] 

T. McK. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Singing on the Way 9 

Heart Longings, 12 

The Sleeping Wife, 13 

Snow-storm Sonnet, 15 

To the Comet, 16 

Love for Little Things, 18 

The Wane of Life, . 19 

To J. R. Chandler, Esq 21 

Hymn for Young Men's Missionary Society, . . 22 

Drawyers Church, Delaware, 24 

The Comet of 1843, 25 

The Sick Man's Sonnet, . . . . , .26 

The Sycamore Stump, 27 

The Path of Life, 28 

The Old Blind Voter of Pine Ward, .... 29 

September, 30 

On the late Rev. J. Well wood Scott, . . .31 

Noon in the Country, 32 

Earth's Noblest Men, 33 

1* 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page 

Happy Childhood, 34 

The Two Flowers, 35 

Rainy April, 37 

« Go ! teach all nations," 38 

"Thirty," 41 

The Sycamore Bough, . . . . . .42 

The Babe asleep, 44 

Pilgrim ! whither bound 1 45 

Celestial Frolics, 47 

Our Babe, 49 

The Father becoming blind, 50 

Indian Summer, 53 

The Public Park, 56 

Thoughts on my Lot, 57 

New York, 60 

The Tempest stilled, 62 

The Careless Sunday-school Teacher, ... 64 

The Brotherhood of Man, ..... 67 

Early Day, . 68 

The Pine Street Church, . . . . . 71 

The Orphan's Tale, 73 

My Mother knelt in Prayer, 75 

The Poet's Mission . .77 

The Two Worshippers, 78 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Page 

Man's Stewardship, 81 

Jesus in Gethsemane, 82 

October's coming, ........ 84 

Beth-el, 85 

Horticultural Exhibition, 87 

In memory of my little friend William Wells Thompson 88 

The Poor Widow, 90 

Eternity, 91 

The Printer, . 94 

The Sabbath has come, 95 

Jonah and the Ninevites, 97 

Tobacco's Victim, .101 

To a Rat, caught in our Printing Office, . . .102 

The Old Man's Hymn, 103 

The Law of the Lips, 105 

On the Death of James G. Eaton, .... 107 

« He giveth his beloved sleep," 109 

Unceasing Prayer, Ill 

In honour of the gallant Troop, . . . .112 

To L. Johnson, Esq 116 

Enthusiasm, 117 

Loneliness, . 120 

The Deathless Smile, . . . . . .121 

The Great Day, 123 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Father to his Family, 134 

The Poet's Visiter, 126 

Juvenile Hymn, 127 

My Father blessed me, 129 

Remember the Poor! 130 

The Hymns my Mother sung, 132 

The Drunken Mother's Child, 133 

On the Death of little David White Culver, . . 136 

The Dying Man, 137 

The Wounded Bird, 140 

On hearing a Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Ely, . . J 

The Deaf, . . 

Time Flies, 



DROPPINGS FROM THE HEART. 



SINGING ON THE WAY. 

Far distant from my Father's house 

I would no longer stay; 
But gird my soul and hasten on, 

And sing upon the way ! 
And sing! and sing! 

And sing upon my way ! 

The skies are dark, the thunders roll, 
And lightnings round me play; 

Let me but feel my Saviour near, 
I'll sing upon the way ! 

And sing ! and sing ! 
And sing upon my way! 



10 SINGING ON THE WAY. 

The night is long and drear, I cry; 

O when will come the day? 
I see the morning-star arise, 

And sing upon the way! 
And sing ! and sing ! 

And sing upon my way! 

When care and sickness bow my frame, 

And all my powers decay, 
I'll ask Him for His promised grace, 

And sing upon the way! 
And sing ! and sing ! 

And sing upon my way! 

He'll not forsake me when I'm old, 
And weak, and blind, and gray ; 

I'll lean upon his faithfulness, 
And sing upon the way! 
And sing ! and sing ! 
And sing upon my way! 



SINGING ON THE WAY. \\ 

When grace shall bear me home to God— 

Disrobed of mortal clay, 
I'll enter in the pearly gates, 

And sing upon the way! 
And sing! and sing 

An everlasting day ! 



12 



HEART LONGINGS. 

I long to be beloved. My bosom yearns 

Tow'rds all that's pure and beautiful; and fain 
Would find a recompense of love again. 

My pensive soul with ardent thirsting turns 
To heaven and earth to seek its fill of love. — 
Beyond the sun's domain, in realms above, 

Abide full many whom I loved on earth; 
My father liveth there, and there my mother ; 
My sister there, and there my elder brother ; 

(For coldness rests on our paternal hearth.) 
Though kin and friends remain who love 
me well, 

I long to hear again my parents' voice — 

With early loved ones fain would I rejoice, 
And in God's presence re-united dwell. 



13 



THE SLEEPING WIFE. 

My wife! how calmly sleepest thou! 
A perfect peace is on thy brow: 
The heavens are clothed in robes of light, 
And twinkling stars adorn the night; 
But nature has for me no charms 
While thou, my love ! art in mine arms ; 
I'll watch, and mark each line of grace 
That God hath drawn upon thy face. 

My wife ! my wife ! thy bosom fair, 
That heaves with breath more pure than air 
Which dwells within the scented rose, 
Is wrapped in deep and still repose ;— 
So deep, that I erewhile did start, 
And lay my hand upon thy heart, 
In sudden fear that stealthy death 
Had slyly robbed thee of thy breath. 
2 



14 THE SLEEPING WIFE. 

My wife ! my wife ! thy face now seems 
To show the tenor of thy dreams : — 
Methinks thy gentle spirit plays 
Amid the scenes of earlier days; 
Thy thoughts, perchance, now dwell on him 
Whom most thou lov'st; or in the dim 
Futurity now strive to peep, 
With eager eye and daring sweep. 

Sleep on ! sleep on ! my dreaming wife ! 
Thou livest now another life, 
With "beings filled, of fancy's birth; — 
I will not call thee back to earth; 
Sleep on until the car of morn 
Above the eastern hills is borne ; 
Then thou wilt wake again, and bless 
My sight with living loveliness. 



15 



SNOW-STORM SONNET. 

Old father Winter's powdering o'er his hair; 

Grim Vanity ! he's gray enough already, — - 

For one so old, he ought to be more steady, 
Yet he's as fickle as the springtime fair. 

But yesterday, his was a balmy breath- 
To-day he blusters, sending out his frost 

To nip the buds, and smite with sudden death 
The tender flowers that ventured forth to peep 
If cruel Winter yet had fallen asleep : 

The daring act their gentle life hath cost. 
Thus died Louise, our tenderest summer flower, 

So meek, so mild, so beauteous in her bloom ; 
The blast of winter howled around her bower, 

She shrank away, and hid within the tomb. 



16 



TO THE COMET. 

i. 

From whence, and whither bound, celestial ranger ? 

And what's thy mission in these lower skies? 

Cam'st thou from spheres beyond our mortal 
eyes, 
Prognosticating some impending danger? 

Or art thou on a tour of observation, 

Before thou tak'st a permanent location? 
In olden time, the world had gone demented, 

To see thy tail long trailing 'neath the stars, 

The sign of woes, of famines, and of jars 
Among the nations, not to be prevented. 

To them thou wert a spectacle of doom, 
They feared thy train the earth would overwhelm ; 

To us it seemeth merely as a broom, 
Wherewith the angels sweep their starry realm. 



TO THE COMET. 17 



But why so hasty in thy northern flight? 

And where's thy head? why hide it, like a 
maiden, 
Behind a veil composed of threads of light 

Abstracted from the sun, and richly laden 
With gems and dyes of a celestial hue ? 

Say, art thou journeying to the far-off place 

Where chill Uranus runs his lonely race, 
To learn how all thy brother comets do ? 

Ethereal stranger! when wilt thou return 

In silvery splendour in our skies to burn ? 
Methinks the light of many eyes shall pale, 

And sorrowing spirits find a welcome rest, 
Ere thou again thy glittering form shall trail 

Athwart the heavens, fleet Meteor of the West ! 



18 



LOVE FOR LITTLE THINGS. 

I know where bloom some violets in a bed 
Half hidden in the grass ; and crowds go by 
And see them not, unless some curious eye 

Unto their hiding-place by chance is led. 
I often pass that way, and look on them, 

And love them more and more. I know not why 

My heart doth love such humble things; but I 
Esteem them more than robe or diadem 

Of haughty kings. A babe, or bird, or flower 

Hath o'er the soul a most despotic power. 
The tearful eye of infancy oppressed— 

A flower down-trodden by the foot of spite- 
Awaken sighs of sorrow in the breast, 

Or nerve the arm to vindicate their right. 



19 



THE WANE OF LIFE. 

i. 

The world around me groweth gray and old: 

My friends are dropping one by one away; 

Some live in distant lands — some in the clay 
Rest quietly, their mortal moments told. 

The lightness of my youth is gone ; the veil 
That hid from me the selfishness of man 
Is lifted up, and I have learned to scan 

The world with wary look. My cheek is pale ; 
A dimness often stealeth o'er mine eye, 
And many furrows on my forehead lie. 

And when my children gather at my knee 
To worship God and sing our morning psalm, 

Their rising stature whispers unto me 
My life is waning towards its evening calm, j 



20 THE WANE OF LIFE. 

II. 

What though it wane ! There is another dwell- 
ing, 

Not made with hands, eternal in the skies; 

And there the ransomed spirit shall arise 
And sing the hymns unnumbered hosts are 

swelling. 
And is it scripture truth, that " when man dies 

His soul shall live ?" "Then will I wait the days 
Of my appointed time; and I shall praise 
The Lord, whom I shall see with mine own eyes 

And not another." — Wake, my soul! for thou 

Must do thy service in the present now. 
Thy life's thy battling-time — the world thy field: 

Thy Leader's voice resoundeth on the air; 
The word of truth, be that thy chosen shield — 

Thine only weapons, meekness, love and prayer. 



21 

TO J. R. CHANDLER, ESQ. 

Editor of the United States Gazette. 

Grave potentate of scissors and the quill ! 

Few days agone I sent thee sundry rhymes, 

Befitting well the temper of the times, 
And wrought with all the printer-poet's skill. 
Though daily since, I pored thy lucid sheet — 

The inner columns and the outer side — 
Nor line, nor word, nor syllable did greet 

My eager gaze or gratify my pride. 
My curious wits are at a loss to know 
Why thou hast used thine humble servant so.* 

Deep in my heart a spring is bubbling up 
Of thoughts most sweet and pleasant unto me, 

And when I dip and proffer thee a cup, 
Wilt thou, untasted, cast it far from thee? 

* The Editor replied, that the MS. had been mislaid. 



22 



HYMN 



Written for the Young Men's Missionary Association of the Third 
Presbyterian Church. 



I. 

God hath said it — and his promise 
Standeth firmly as his throne- 
Earth shall be a sure possession 
Granted to his Son alone; 

And the heathen 
Jesus' gracious reign shall own. 

ii. 

Where a soul in guilt is lying, 
There His gospel shall be sent; 

Life and grace for wretches dying- 
Balm for bosoms sad and rent : 

News of mercy — 
All shall hear the call, Repent! 



23 



in. 

God of mercy ! man is mourning ; 

Darkness lieth on his road: 
Shine, till light, his path adorning, 

Leadeth him to thine abode, 
And his spirit, 

Sanctified, doth rest in God. 

IV. 

Words of precious promise, spoken 
In thy faithfulness and love, 

Never, never can be broken 

While thou reignest King above ! 

May thy servants 
Now thy gracious kindness prove. 



24 



DRAWYERS CHURCH, DELAWARE. 

Adown in "brave old Delaware there stands 
An ancient church amid a field of dead; 

The trees implanted by its children's hands 
Now cast deep shadows o'er their peaceful bed. 

This church hath long borne witness for its God, 
And He hath had a people here, to praise 
His blessed name, for sevenscore years of days. 

Four generations here have risen, and trod 
Life's changeful path, since first the sod was 
broken 

To lay therein the corner-stone, and build 

This temple which His Presence oft hath filled, 
And where His grace hath set its sealing token. 

Here reign, our God ! till time shall fade away 

Into eternity, like night in morning's ray. 



25 



THE COMET. 

Low in the west — the early night begun — 

A silvery streak appeareth in the air; 

'Tis neither star nor planet; but some fair 
Attendant at the palace of the sun. 

It shineth clearly when the deeper night 
Pervades the skies, and all the stars appear 
Upon the ramparts of the upper sphere, 

Like heavenly watchmen, with a torch of light. 
Perchance it comes a messenger in haste, 

On embassy from the extremest bound 
Of some immense, immeasurable waste ; 

Or it may be a chariot on its round, 
Wherein the angels fly with news of grace 
And loving-kindness to some distant race. 



26 



THE SICK MAN'S SONNET. 

Throw wide the shutter ! Let me see the light, 

And feel the cooling breeze upon my face. 

So long have I been hidden from my race, 
Sweet nature's aspect seemeth doubly bright. 
These many days I've lain upon this bed, 

And turned my weary frame and sought for rest ; 

But strong disease hath gnawed within my 
breast, 
And throbbing pangs have racked my fevered head. 

The long, still nights have brought to me no 



I've counted all the hours until the morn 
Hath broken in the east; and, weak and worn, 
I've prayed my Maker for a heart to weep. 
The pitying Father hears the child's request — 
My sins rebuked, He gives me perfect rest. 



27 

THE SYCAMORE STUMP, 

IN THIRD STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 

Whene'er I walk in Third, near Willing's alley, 
I mark the spot where that old buttonwood 
Beyond the memory of man had stood 

As proudly as if in Missouri's valley. 
I mourn its fall, as of a pleasant friend 
"Whose useful life hath met a hasty end. 

The ruthless axe that hewed its silvered trunk 
Cut loose the ties that, tendril-like, had hound 

My love unto the tree ; and when it sunk, 
My heart sunk with it, grieving, to the ground. 

Old men are doubtless living, who, with me, 
Bewail its doom;' — who, in its grateful shade, 

Some threescore years ago, in boyish glee 
With glad companions innocently played. 



28 



THE PATH OF LIFE. 

There is a pathway leading to the skies ; 

'Tis strait and narrow, and the travellers climb 

With songs and sighings towards its height 
suhlime, 
Where faith discerns a bright, immortal prize. 
The aged man uplifts his failing eyes, 

And presses on to reach his welcome rest ; 
The man of sinew shouteth fearless cries 

To animate the youthful pilgrim's breast; 
And ever and anon the voice of song 
Or prayer uprises from the heavenward throng. 

Angelic watchers compass all the road, 
And aid the travellers when their spirit faints ; 

Till Death comes near to bear to Christ's abode 
The holy hosts of His elected saints. 



29 



THE OLD BLIND VOTER OF PINE WARD. 

Make way, ye generous freemen! let him come 

And cast his ballot into Freedom's urn! 
His arm, perchance, once aided to strike dumb 

His country's foes ; and still his feelings burn 
With all their ancient warmth for liberty. 

Approach, old man ! We honour thy thin 
locks — 
So white, so few — that tell thy lengthened age ! — 
The time thou liv'dst hath been a glorious page 

Of human history, and proudly mocks 
All former times. It hath been given to thee 

To see the virgin flag of Freedom flung 
Abroad to float in every breeze; while he 

Whose head in humble abjectness had hung, 
Did heavenward lift his eye, and strike — and 
dare be free ! 



3* 



30 



SEPTEMBER. 

I bear a special love to sweet September: 
Though people say partialities are wrong, 
From youthful Janu'ry to old December 
No month I love with love so true and strong. 
The year hath got its richest ripeness then, 
Like womanhood when in its perfect prime 
And comeliness, before the hand of Time 
Hath drawn a line upon the forehead with his 
pen. 
September's lap is full, and plenty reigns 
To recompense the toiler for his pains 

And feed the poor. A pleasant look hath she- 
Such as the children love to see upon 
Their mother's face, when they her smile have 
won: 
Let others choose their love — - September 
pleases me. 



31 



ON THE LATE REV. J. WELWOOD SCOTT. 

A meek and holy man hath passed away ; 
He lieth in the grave ; the crumbling coffin-dust 
Is falling on the bosom of the just, 

And mingling with his slowly mouldering clay. 
His spirit lives in heaven; and there he finds 

The loved and lost of other years; the dead 
Still living, with immortal forms and minds, 

And ornaments of grace on every head. 
He hails the dwellers in the land above, 
And joins with them in brotherhood of love. 

Their spirits move in holiest accord — 

He joys because his soul hath found its home — 
They shout because another soul hath come — 

And all unite in praises to the Lord. 



32 



NOON IN THE COUNTRY. 

'Twas Sabbath noon. I sat me down upon 

A fallen tree, beside a little rill 

That ran along the bottom of the hill 
And sang upon its way. The summer sun 

Beamed hotly down ; but 'neath the shadowing 
trees 

My bosom felt the coolness of the breeze. 
A noise and silence seemed by turns to reign; 

The squirrels nimbly pranced along the fence, — 

I harmed them not, nor feigned to scare them 
thence — 
(For who could put such merry things to pain ?) 

Upon the ground came lightly down a bird— - 
A frog was gravely sitting by the rill — 
But far from me was thought or wish to kill — 

And quietly I sat and saw, and quietly I heard. 



33 



EARTH'S NOBLEST MEN. 

Some men are born t' endure the toil and strife 

And heavy burdens of the earth. They are 
The pillars in the temple of this life, 

Its strength and ornament; or, hidden far 
Beneath, they form its firm foundation-stone. 
In nobleness they stand distinct and lone, 

Yet other men upon them lean, and fain 3 
(Such selfishness in human bosoms swells) 

Would lay on them the weight of their own pain. 
Where greatness is, a patient spirit dwells; 

They least complain who bear and suffer most: 
In still and stern endurance they sustain 
The ills whereof all weaker minds complain; 

And in their blessed lot they stand, without a 
sigh or boast. 



34 



HAPPY CHILDHOOD. 

The birthright of a child is love; and be 
The portion his, without a stinted measure : 
O may his bosom be brimfull of pleasure 

Aflowing from affection's treasury. 
A happy child is beautiful to me : 

Let others praise the picture-limner's art, 
Mine eye prefers the quick* reality, 

Whose living beauty thrills upon my heart. 
Then let him taste a little while that earth 
Hath yet a cup of blessedness and mirth. 

Soon will he learn the falseness of the world, — 
The selfishness of man, — the hateful strife 
Of men with men, of tyranny with life — 

And find the temple of his hopes in utter ruins 
hurled. 

* " Quick and the dead."— Apostle's Creed. 



35 



THE TWO FLOWEES. 

A modest maiden on her breast 

Two blooming flowerets wore; 
The one a full and brilliant crest 

And velvet surface bore. 
The other was of modest white, 

With tiny leaves and stem, 
And seemed to shrink away from light— 

A fairy's diadem. 

The gaudier floweret withered soon- — 

She cast it from her breast; 
The valley-lily died at noon, 

Yet still was it caressed. 
The first, though in its hue so bright, 

Was scentless in its bloom; 
The little floweret clothed in white 

Seemed made of rich perfume. 



36 THE TWO FLOWERS. 

Thus from the soul that loves its God, 

Rich odours ever rise; 
And He will take it from the sod, 

And plant it -in the skies. 
But those who love Him not, shall meet 

His angry, withering breath ; 
And they shall leave on earth no sweet 

Remembrance after death ! 



37 



RAINY APRIL. 

The wind still blows from the north-eastern 
quarter, 
Full charged with chills, and coughs, and 

sniffling sneezes ! 
Let poets sing of April's balmy breezes, 
'Tis my belief that Spring's a wayward daughter, 
Whose parentage is found in clouds and water; 
Or she is Nature's washerwoman, splashing 
The earth's old clothing — suds around her 
dashing ! 
At all events, I wish her reign was shorter. 
The weathercock awhile turns to the north, 
The long-imprison'd sun Gomes weeping forth, 
His eyelids fringed with diamond drops; when,lo ! 
The wind returns to its accustomed place, 
And blows the clouds directly in his face, 
And pours their watering-pot on man below ! 
4 



"GO! TEACH ALL NATIONS!" 

Matt, xxviii. 19. 

Go, missionary, go! 

Relying on thy God; 
Nor grieve that thou must know 

No more thy natal sod. 
The pleasant joys resign 

That nestle round thy hearth, 
Close as the creeping vine 

Clings to thy place of birth. 

Go from thy mother's tomb; 

Go from thy father's voice ; 
Leave desolate thy home, 

That pagans may rejoice. 
Where nature sternly piles 

Eternal hills of snow; 
Or where she kindly smiles 

In peaceful beauty, go ! 



GO, TEACH ALL NATIONS'. 39 

Go where the sun, in wrath, 

Moves o'er the blasted land, 
And marks his dreadful path 

By heaps of fiery sand. 
Go to the isles afar 

That beautifully lie 
Upon the seas, like stars 

Set in a nether sky. 

Go, where the holy name 

Of Jesus is unknown; 
Where, dead to truth and shame, 

Man loves himself alone ! 
Go ! value not thy life ! 

Aim for the heavenly crown; 
And in the weary strife, 

Ne'er lay thy weapons down. 

In faith still battle on; 

Intently fix thine eye 
Upon the mark, and won 

Shall be the victory. 



40 GO, TEACH ALL NATIONS! 

Toil on! cease not thy pains, 
Though unknown, uncaressed 

By men; — for thee remains 
An everlasting rest. 



41 



"THIRTY." 

"At thirty wise, or never!" So 'tis said; 

How wisely said, the poet sayeth not: 

I'm. thirty now, yet scarce am I a jot 
More grave than when less years sat on my head. 
But life is not so "beautiful as then; 

Its opening scene was lovely to my view, — 
Then earth was heavenly, and the race of men 

I deem'd its angels — while the scene was new. 
I'm wiser now, or better taught — I've found 
The world to be a sin-polluted ground; 

Man crushes man ; God's image lies in chains ; 
And Pride looks down from her blasphemous throne: 

Unpitied Misery weeps amid her pains, 
While few indeed are they who live like Christ 
alone ! 

August 12, 1842. 



42 



THE SYCAMORE BOUGH. 

Upon an ancient sycamore 

A noble bough there grew, 
And fostered myriads of leaves 

That hid itself from view. 
When winter came with angry breath, 

The bough was brown and bare; 
Gone were the summer-hearted leaves 

That once were nurtured there. 

Thus with vain man. In summer days 

The world around him clings; 
It guiles his heart, and o'er his faults 

A leafy mantle flings ; 
It blinds him, till the bitter day 

Of pain and death comes on, — 
And leaves him, then, to bear his woes 

Unaided and alone. 



THE SYCAMORE BOUGH. 43 

Not so the lowly man who walks 

The path that Jesus trod,— 
Who daily learns to die ; whose " life 

Is hid with Christ in God." 
The world between his soul and God 

Can never intervene; 
In joy or sorrow, life or death, 

His hope is ever green. 



44 



THE BABE ASLEEP. 

The babe is sleeping. Hist! no footfall here 
To jar the placid air. Cease, singing bird, 
Thy melody; and, puss! no mewling word 

To grate upon the little sleeper's ear. 

How still she lies ! and see that dimple curl 

Around her lip, as if some pleasant thought 

Were in her heart, from heavenly angels caught! 
God's blessing rest upon my baby-girl! 

Were I to give my frolic fancy play, 
I'd sing of her as some angelic sprite, 
Who, wandering from her native home of light, 

Fatigued, had fallen asleep upon the way; — 
I'd fear to wake her, lest she'd plume her wings 
And soar away from me and all sublunar things ! 



45 



PILGRIM! WHITHER BOUND? 

Pilgrim! pilgrim! whither bound? 

Thy halting feet are weary; 
Delay thy toilsome pilgrimage, 
Make this thy welcome resting-stage, 

For, lo, thy path is dreary! 

Tempter! tempter! flee away! 

Entice me not to turning; 
Oh, what care I how drear the path? 
I haste to 'scape the coming wrath, 

The everlasting burning. 

Pilgrim! pilgrim! why this haste? 

The world is bright before thee ; 
Its honours are at thy command, — 
Its joys but wait thy beckoning hand 

To fling their sweetness o'er thee. 



46 pilgrim! whither bound? 

Tempter! tempter! cease thy charms! 

I hear the step "behind me; 
The blood-avenger hastens on — 
Oh, let me on my course begone, 

Or death's cold hand will blind me. 

Pilgrim! pilgrim! let thy fears 
Die like the gale at even; 
Thy soul is safe — thy God is good — 
And He will ne'er require thy blood, 
But lead thee safe to heaven. 

Tempter! tempter! hence away! 

I'll heed thy counsel never; 
I cast myself in Jesus' arms; 
Oh, Saviour, calm my soul's alarms— 

I'm thine — I'm thine for ever. 



47 



CELESTIAL FROLICS. 

The sun had put his night-cap on, 
And covered o'er his head, 

When countless stars appeared amid 
The curtains round his bed. 

The moon arose, most motherly, 

To take a quiet peep 
How all the stars behaved while he 

Her sovereign was asleep. 

She saw them wink their silvery eyes, 

As if in roguish play; 
Though silent all, to her they seemed 

As if they'd much to say. 

So, lest their winking should disturb 
The sleeping king of light, 

She rose so high that her mild eye 
Could keep them all in sight. 



48 CELESTIAL FROLICS. 

The stars, abashed, stole softly back, 
And looked demure and prim; 

Until the moon began to nod — 
Her eyes becoming dim. 

Then sleepily she sought her home, 
That's somewhere — who knows where? 

But as she went, the playful stars 
Commenced their twinkling glare. 

And when the moon was fairly gone, 

The imps with silvery eyes 
Had so much fun it woke the sun, 

And he began to rise! 

He rose in glory ! — from his eyes- 
Sprang forth a new-born day; 

Before whose brightness all the stars 
Ran hastily away. 



OUR BABE. 

We have at home a little babe. Her eyes 
Are blue and beautiful, and flash out gleams 
Of diamond light, like that which brightly 
beams 

On stilly summer nights from starlit skies. 

Her cheeks are tinted with the blushing dyes 
Which Heaven — so wisely bountiful — bestows 
In virgin freshness on the modest rose. 

When, worn and sad, I seek the spot where 
lies 
My lovely all — that infant's budding charms, 
As she disports within Eliza's arms, 

Dispel my sadness, and her winning wiles 

And crowing shouts provoke unwitting smiles, 
Till every care is from my soul beguiled: — 
Blest is the man who loves a little child ! 

5 



50 



THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 

Mine eyes are darkening, and their sight 

Grows dimmer day by day; 
The shadows of a mortal night 

Are falling on my way. 

The fainter stars no more I see, 
The bright ones dimly gleam, 

As if thin vapours fitfully 

Obscured their trembling beam. 

The angels of my heaven on earth — 

My children in my home — 
Oft leave their plays and cheerful mirth/ 

And to my knee-side come: 

"Sir, I am Lily— Harry's here — 
You thought that I were he!" 



THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 51 

Says one, with many a falling tear, 
"Dear Father! can't you see?" 

I answer not — how can I speak? 

I lift them on my knee; 
From mother they an answer seek, 

But she weeps bitterly, 

And gazes in my fading eyes, 

As if she fain would find 
Some grounds for unbelief, and cries, 

"No — no— he is not blind." 

I have not come to manhood's prime 

Or vigour of man's age, 
And must I be before my time 

Denied bright nature's page? 

O Thou! who wast a Friend to me 

When I was left alone-— 
An orphan youth — all friendlessly 

On love and labour thrown: 



52 THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 

Be gracious in my deep despair; 

To her and these be kind; 
A bitter lot is theirs to bear 

Whose father's poor and blind. 



53 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

These days of balmy breathings say 

The spirit of the south 
Is winging hitherward her way, 

Sweets dropping from her mouth: 
Her presence field and forest fills, 
While sweetly sing the running rills. 

The brilliant leaves adorn the trees,— 
Within whose cooling shade 

The aged men inhaled the breeze, 
And many an urchin played ; — 

The trees whose dying loveliness 

Is brighter than their summer dress. 

The boughs are tenantless of birds ; 
The squirrel's chirp is heard 



54 INDIAN SUMMER. 

Where concerts of melodious words 

The woods and orchards stirr'd; 
Light-hearted warblers! wise betimes, 
They've hied away to sunnier climes. 

The sun, emitting modest rays, 

Hastes early to the west, 
'And bursts into a golden blaze 

Just as he dips his crest, 
And bidsj our land a long good-bye 
And speeds to light the western sky. 

As one beloved expiring lies, 

And lifts her eye a while 
To give love's token ere she dies, 

And smiles a last sweet smile, 
That e'er shall bide within the cell 
Where memory's holiest treasures dwell,- 

Thus Summer, as she dies away, 
Looks on the earth again, 



INDIAN SUMMER. 55 

And bids her shadows softly stray 

Amid the homes of men— 
To bless them with her parting breath, 
And reconcile them to her death. 



56 



THE PUBLIC PARK. 

I love the spot where God's great trees have 
room 

To spread their branches far on every side, 

And lift their tops in pristine forest-pride 
As in their own domain, and bud and bloom 

In vast variety ; while round their roots 
The grassy spires the unctuous mould o'er- 

spread, 
And fragrant clover shows its honied head, 

Or buttercup or violet upward shoots. 
Awake from slumber, drowsy dreamer! wake! 

Inhale the healthful breathings of the sod; 
Night's sickly bonds from thy dull being shake, 

And while the birds are piping praise to God, 
Lift up thy heart — in gladness lift thy voice- 
When nature sings, then let thy soul rejoice. 



57 



THOUGHTS ON IY LOT. 

No stores have I of worldly wealth, 
But God hath given me cheerful health; 
No diamonds in my coffers shine, 
But a true loving wife is mine; 
No jewels dangle from her ear, 
But at her side our babes appear, 
Whose cheeks of health and eyes of life 
Are with a sparkling beauty rife. 

Though I no parents' care have known 
Since boyhood's years, yet God hath strown 
His blessings o'er me constantly, 
And father, mother been to me ; 
And when I've needed daily bread, 
His providence my mouth hath fed; 
And He hath been about my way, 
And warmed and clothed me every day. 



58 THOUGHTS ON MY LOT. 

And I have sisters young and fair, 
And brothers blest with virtues rare, 
Whose hearts are generously impressed, 
And each one truly loves the rest: 
True friends have I, whose sympathy 
Is like a Sabbath eve to me; — 
And when I see a kindly face, 
I mark therein peculiar grace. 

Proud honours crowd around me not ; 
Yet when in some secluded spot 
I strike my simple muse's string, 
And die to every care, and sing 
The thoughts that rise within my soul, 
And thrill my mind beyond control, — 
What then to me are honours worth? — 
My soul is higher than this earth! 

But more than this ! — When Faith doth ope 
Her light upon mine eyes, and Hope 
Assures me that my soul is built 
On Him whose blood for man was spilt, — 



THOUGHTS ON MY LOT. 59 

When humbly at His feet I lie, 
And feel I'm less than vanity, 
What then is earth to me? — Tis dross! 
'Tis hidden from me by the cross ! 

My God! sustain my strength, and teach 
My faltering spirit how to reach 
Unto thy throne of love, and see 
The unnumbered ransomed saints there be, 
Who, clad in robes of spotless white, 
Behold thy face in perfect light, 
And marvel at the wondrous grace 
That lifted them to such a place ! 

Then, surely, I'd love earth no more, 
But thirstingly I'd pant to soar 
To regions of celestial bliss. 
And can I sin, my God! in this — 
To long to feel Thee ever near, 
Whene'er I weep to dry the tear? 
To thy kind bosom fain I'd flee — 
O Lord! my soul is sick for thee! 



60 



NEW YORK! 

New York — my home of love ! thou art enthroned 

Upon the heaving billows; at thy feet 
They roll submissively, — their sweetly-toned 

And gentle swellings making music meet 
For thee. Earth, ocean, air, their tribute pay 

To thee, and dwellers in far distant lands, 
Lured by thy fame, steal from their homes away, 
And over lands and briny oceans stray, 

To mark how beautiful thy queenly city stands ! 

New York! I love thy sons, beyond compare 

Ennobled, — not by empty words of kings, 
But by ennobling acts, by virtues rare, 

And charities unbounded. These the things 
That crown their names with honour. — Peerless all 

Thy lovely daughters, warm with sympathy, 
Swift to obey meek Mercy's moving call, 

To heal the heart and dry the weeping eye, 
And hush the plaint that fears no comforter is nigh. 



NEW YORK. 61 

New York ! I found my birth in thee ; — in thee 

I played while yet a child ; — in thee my tongue 
Was taught to pray "beside my mother's knee, 

And sing the hymns my mother sweetly sung. 
In thee my father took my tender hand, 

And led my early feet in virtue's ways, 
And by example showed me how to stand 

Unharmed in scenes where evil influence sways ; 
In thee mine angel said, I trust, "Behold he 
prays!" 

New York! I love thee with a living love! 

Thou day-star of my longing eyes — my all ! 
The unsleeping yearnings of my bosom prove 

How strongly thou dost every life-pulse thrall, 
Beneath thy grassy sods the sacred clay 

Of friend and parent thou dost safely keep ; 
While far from thee 1 roam, to Heaven I pray 

That I with them may in thy bosom sleep : — 
And thus I soothe my soul, and smile when I 
would weep. 



62 



THE TEMPEST STILLED. 

The tempest from its airy throne descended in 

its might, 
And hastened to the earth amid the dark and 

solemn night; 
It rushed in its mad fury o'er the face of Galilee, 
When Jesus and his bosom friends were sailing 

on the sea. 

Night spread her mantle o'er the skies, and hid 

the gentle light 
That teaches mariners to steer their trembling 

ships at night; — 
The raging anger of the gale had quenched the 

glimmering spark 
Of courage in the breast of all His followers in 

the bark. 

Yet Jesys slept in quietude upon the tossing sea, 
(For every holy one is safe wherever he may be;) 



THE TEMPEST STILLED. 63 

And to him his disciples came, all wan with 

trembling fear, 
And said, "0 Lord, hast thou no care that we 

should perish here?" 

The Lord arose in majesty amid that scene of 

dread, 
And spake unto the tempest-gale that whistled 

round his head; 
He bade the driving winds be still, the waters 

rage no more, — 
And then the heavens became serene, the waves 

slept on the shore. 

O fully may the Christian trust the Arm that 

can restrain 
The whistling of the tempest-blast, the fury of 

the main ; 
For when the hour of judgment- wrath the day 

of grace shall end, 
Christ's mighty arm will succour all who on His 

strength depend. 



64 



THE CARELESS SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 

A teacher stood beside his class, 

And mirth was in his eye ; 
He smiled, and chatted gayly with 

Another standing by — 
Nor did it seem he ever thought 

His scholars were to die, 
And that their souls in bliss or wo 

Must live eternally. 

His half-filled class had straggled in 

With careless unconcern ; 
They came to pass a weary hour, 

And not to humbly learn 
The blessed words of life, with which 

A teacher's heart should burn; 
He showed to them no sympathy, 

They felt none in return. 



THE CARELESS TEACHER. 65 

No kindly greetings welcomed in 

The loiterers by the way; 
He asked them not with winning voice, 

Why they did so delay? 
He spoke not of the sin of those 

Who break the Sabbath-day : 
To him it were of small account 

If they did come or stay ! 

He carelessly took up the Book, 

And with a lazy yawn, 
When half the time had sped, began 

The lesson of the morn; 
And did more harm than men who dare 

The Holy Book to scorn ! 
Far better had his heartless task 

Been utterly forborne. 

He told them not that life is brief, 

And that the tender flower, 
Whose stalk is brittle, soonest breaks 

Beneath the sudden shower : 



66 THE CARELESS TEACHER. 

Nor did he warn them now to flee 

To Jesus, lest the hour 
Was nigh at hand when they should feel 

Death's paralyzing power! 

He told them not that they might come 

And join the ransomed band, 
Who, robed in holiness, before 

The throne of God do stand — 
If they would *turn from every sin, 

And honour God's command: — 
In judgment, will not Jesus Christ 

Require this at his hand? 

The hour is past ! the weary hour ! 

He's glad his task is done : 
Nor cares he that his Sabbath toil 

No soul to Christ has won. 
Ah ! foolish man ! his sands of life 

Perchance are well-nigh run ; 
How will he dare to meet that Eye 

That dims the noonday sun ! 



67 



THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. 

If any man must fall for me to rise, 
Then seek I not to rise. Another's pain 
I choose not for my good. A golden chain — 

A robe of honour is too poor a prize 
To tempt my hasty hand to do a wrong 

Unto a fellow man. This life hath wo 

Sufficient, wrought by man's satanic foe; 
And who that hath a heart would dare prolong 

Or add unto the sorrows of a soul 

That seeks some healing balm to make it whole ? 
My bosom owns the brotherhood of man ; 

From God and truth a renegade is he 

Who scorns a poor man in his poverty, 
Or on his fellow lays his supercilious ban. 



68 



EARLY DAY. 

How slowly and majestically comes the morning 

sun ! 
His piercing rays begin to break through all the 

vapours dun; 
The morning-star grows paler, and the feebler 

stars all hide, — 
The splendour of the early day extinguishes 

their pride. 

See nature rise with crimson blushes from the 
bed of night ! 

How silently and gracefully she clothes herself 
in light! 

She sits in beauty like a bride, adorned with 
healthful bloom, 

And her pure breath pervades the air with deli- 
cate perfume. 



EARLY DAY. 69 

O cheerily, most cheerily the singing-birds 

awake, 
And joyously on every side their songs of praises 

break ! 
What soul can hear them piping thus at day^ 

break's early hour, 
And not be lifted up to God by love's attracting 

power ? 

An indistinct and humming noise now steals 

along the air; 
Mankind have left their slumberings, and for their 

toils prepare; — 
Some kneel and humbly pray to God, while 

thousands go their way, 
Without a blessing in their hearts, to pass a 

prayerless day. 

How soukrefreshing 'tis to pray before the cares 

of life 
Confuse and fill the busy mind with desolating 

strife ; 



70 EARLY DAY. 

How sweet to read the Holy Book and thus to 

nerve the heart, 
That it may bear unflinchingly and well discharge 

its part. 

Blest be the Lord Almighty for the cheering 

morning light! 
—If beautiful the golden sun when rising in his 

might, 
How glorious must be the Sun that rules the 

realms above, 
Through an eternal day of light, of glory, and 

of love ! 



71 



THE PINE STREET CHURCH. 

I love thee well, old church! 

Thou birth-home of my soul ! 
In thee, I dare to hope, my name 

Was set on mercy's scroll. 

Thou standest pleasantly 

Amid the ancient trees, 
Whose gently-rustling leaves oft make 

Sweet music in the breeze. 

Thou art encompassed by 

The bodies of thy dead, 
Who seem to guard thee lovingly 

While resting in their bed. 

My heart was sadden'd, when 

The rude, defacing blow 
Brought all thine ancient ornaments 

And antique fashions low. 



72 THE PINE STREET CHURCH. 

I'm glad they spared thy walls, 
That, three score years and ten, 

Have echoed to the solemn tones 
Of heaven-accepted men. 

If never in thy courts 

The organ's strains did roll, 

Full often hath thy music been 
The music of the soul ! 

I feel a truant tear 

Steal slowly down my cheek; 
The grief my bosom deeply feels 

My tongue can never speak. 

Peace unto thee, old church! 

Still, in thy modern dress, 
May God abide within thy walls, 

And all thy children bless! 



73 



THE ORPHAN'S TALE. 

My mother blessed me, yet so low 
I scarce could hear her speak; 

Her breath came heavily and slow, 
And pallid was her cheek. 

I sought to pray beside her bed, 

My bosom filled with fear; 
For something terrible and dread 

I thought was coming near. 

And while my mind was wandering, 

I heard a trembling sigh, 
As if an angel's downy wing 

Was passing swiftly by. 

I looked; — my mother's breath had ceased, 

And motionless she lay; 
Her hand I fearfully released, 

'Twas stiff, and cold as clay ! — 

7 



74 THE ORPHAN S TALE. 

Those came who never knew her worth, 
And placed her 'neath the sod; 

So I'd no mother on the earth, 
Nor father but my God. 



75 



MY MOTHER KNELT IN PRAYER. 

When, in my "boyhood's gladsome day, 

My heart was light as air, 
I wandered to a lonely room, 

Where mother knelt in prayer. 

Her hands were clasped in fervency, 
Her lips gave forth no sound; 

Yet, awe-struck, solemnly I felt 
I stood on holy ground. 

My mother, all entranced in prayer, 

My presence heeded not; 
And reverently I turned away 

In silence from the spot. 

My gentle mother never knew 

That I had seen her pray 
In secrecy; but I revered 

Her doubly from that day. 



76 MY MOTHER KNELT IN PRAYER. 

She died; and I, an orphan, since 
Through many cares have strayed; 

But God has kept me, and I feel 
He heard her when she prayed. 



77 



THE POET'S MISSION, 

Each mortal being hath a mission here : — 

'Tis mine to travel soberly along 

The track of life, and sing, perchance, a song 
That ringeth sweetly on some listening ear. 

A fellow-traveller jostles me at times, 

And scorns the music of my simple rhymes ; 
But still I sing; for soon will come the day 

When mental hunger will his breast annoy, 

And love of gold and sensual things will cloy, — 
And then he'll bow submissive to my sway. 

My life is not an idle one. I sing 
And work together. When my time is o'er, 

My frame — like some old harp whose every 
string 
Is gone — will be worn-out, to labour here no 
more. 

7* 



78 



THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 

In the pride of his spirit, 

The Pharisee came 
To God's holy temple, 

His deeds to proclaim; 
And with high swelling hosom 

And lip of disdain, 
He eyed a poor brother 

Whose heart beat with pain. 

Thus spake he within him, 

"O God, I thank thee 
That I am not as sinful 

As other men be, 
Or unjust or oppressive 

To my fellow man, 
Or licentious, or even 

As this publican. 



THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 79 

" Twice a week do I fast, 

And tithe all I possess :" 
And then, all enwrapt 

In his self-righteousness, 
He complacently stood, 

With himself satisfied, 
Though a sinner more vile 

Than a thousand beside. 

But the publican stood 

Afar off in his grief, 
For he felt like a beggar 

Who needed relief; 
And he raised not his eyes, 

And he saw not the scorn 
Which the lip of the Pharisee 

Proudly had worn. 

But he smote on his bosom, 

And deeply he sighed ; 
As a sinner, for mercy, 

Sweet mercy, he cried; 



80 THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 

It was all he could utter, 
But God hears a sigh, 

And listens, no matter 
How feeble the cry. 

Both unheard and unblest, 

The proud Pharisee then 
Returned to the pomp 

Of his riches again ; 
While the publican sinner, 

Though loathed and oppressed, 
Went joyfully homeward 

With peace in his breast. 



81 



MAN'S STEWARDSHIP. 

All men are stewards of some gift or grace, 

And must account to Him who lent the boon; 

Some use it till old age — some, in the noon 
Of life are called to stand before His face, 

And give to Him their reckoning. None so 
poor 
But hath his work to do in peace and love, 
Which, rightly done, shall in the world above 

Place in his hand a palm that shall endure. 
The field is wide — each labourer hath full room 

To improve his talent, and secure the word 

Of glad approval from his gracious Lord; 
Some barren heart his love may bid to bloom, — 

Some wretch may cease his weeping at his 
voice, 

And friend and friendless mutually rejoice. 



82 



JESUS IN GETHSEMANE. 

What scene of grief is this I see? — 
The garden is Gethsemane — 
'Tis night, and 'neath an olive tree 
Is one upon his bended knee! 

What agony and utter wo 
His supplicating gestures show! 
"Remove this sorrow from thy Son; 
Yet not my will, but thine, be done!" 

But not alone he now appears : 
A shining being comes and cheers 
His sinking soul beneath the weight 
Of woes for human strength too great. 

And now he prays more earnestly, 
And mid his weeping agony, 
He sweats, and with the briny flood, 
There oozes out the drops of blood ! 



JESUS IN GETHSEMANE. 83 

While thus he prays, his little band 
Of chosen ones are nigh at hand ; 
Amid the shades, so thick around, 
Behold them prostrate on the ground! 

Their Lord besought them, ere he prayed, 
To watch and pray while there they stayed ; 
But, ah ! while he did pray and weep, 
Their heavy eyes were wrapt in sleep. 

To his disciples twice came he 
In vain, to share their sympathy, 
And he returned to pray again, 
And bear alone his weight of pain. 

Ah! need I ask who He can be 
That, low upon his bended knee, 
Is bowed beneath the olive tree? 
— 'Tis Jesus in Gethsemane ! 



84 



OCTOBER'S COMING. 

The prudish maid, October, 's coming down 
From her sojourn far in the frigid north: 
Of her approach the signs are putting forth ; 

I hear the rustling of her russet gown; 
Her voice rings shrilly on the frosty air, 

The forest leaves are blushing red and brown, 

And Nature wears a dark, forbidding frown, 
Intensely vexed that she 's no longer fair. 

October comes! her nose is sharp and blue, 
Her temper changeable — at morning cold, 

At»noon she tries to smile, then, like a shrew, 
At night she 's lowering, turbulent, and bold. 

Ah ! how unlike the pregnant months, that pour 

In our rejoicing bosoms their abundant store! 



85 



BETH-EL. 

When evening, like a shadow pale, 
O'er nature softly threw her veil, 
The wandering Jacob, far from home, 
Unto a certain place did come. 

The exiled boy, forlorn and lone, 
Reclined his temples on a stone, 
And safely on the verdant sward 
He slept, protected by the Lord. 

He dreamed a holy, blessed dream: 
As on a ladder, it did seem 
That angels from the heavenly land 
Went up and down, a shining band. 

A gracious voice the sleeper heard; 

A promise dwelt in every word — 

That in his seed mankind should know 

A Saviour from their guilt and wo. 
8 



86 



And in that still and lonely place, 
The Lord vouchsafed, in sovereign grace, 
To give him comfort from above, 
And touch his heart with holy love. 

The homeless lad, astonished, woke, 
And in his wonder thus he spoke : 
"The Lord is surely in this spot, 
And I, unworthy, knew it not!" 

" How awful is this place !" thought he ; 
"'Tis as the house of God to me, — 
The very gate of that bright land 
From whence came all the shining band!" 

As token he should not forget 
God's graciousness, a stone he set; 
He vowed a vow beside the stone, 
Then quietly he journeyed on. 



87 



HORTICULTURAL EXHIBITION. 

Within old Eden's walls methinks I stand, 
While sin is not, and innocence and love 
Make earth the counterpart of realms ahove, 

And streams of joy flow through the happy land. 
The blooming beauties of earth's varied climes 

Together here in sisterhood have met; 
Their Latin names would spoil my English 
rhymes, 

Else, I might have them all in order set. 
These fruits and flowers of every shape and 
hue, 

And bees, and honey in its virgin comb, 

And peaches, pears, plums, grapes, and apples 
too, 

I fain could wish were safely at my home. 
Oh that an Eve would wander near my seat, 
And bid me rise, and freely pluck and eat! 



88 



IN MEMORY OF MY LITTLE FRIEND, 

WILLIAM WELLS THOMPSON, 

Who died in his eighth year. 

The gentle William weeps no more; 
His varied sorrows all are o'er; 
No inward struggles mark his brow 
With signs of bitter suffering now. 

A little time on earth he spent, 
Till God for him his angel sent ; 
And then on time he closed his eyes 
To wake in glory in the skies. 

Just like a bud of sunny spring, 
That, spite of kindly fostering, 
Is withered in its early bloom, 
He sank in beauty to the tomb. 



WILLIAM WELLS THOMPSON. 89 

He shines now brighter than a star, 
In that sweet place where angels are ; 
And there no sin nor care can come, 
'Tis better than a mother's home. 

Ah ! let his parents weep no more ! 
Their gentle boy has gone before; 
And when they're laid beneath the sod, 
He'll wait to welcome them to God. 



8* 



90 

THE POOR WIDOW. 

Luke xxi. 1—4. 

A widow came, her gift was small, 
Yet large for her — it was her all ! 
Though meek in look and slow in gait, 
She cast her offering with the great. 

And He who sees not as men see 
Regarded her complacently, 
And thus his followers he addressed, 
"Her gift is more than all the rest." 

How could this be ? Two mites were naught 
Beside the gold the rich men brought; 
And yet the Lord was pleased to say, 
That she had done much more than they! 

The Saviour surely looked upon 
Their motives when the deeds were done; 
They gave from wealth and high degree, 
But she from love and penury ! 



91 



ETERNITY. 

Once in ten thousand years remove 

(Till all are borne away) 
A single grain from every beach 

Whereon the waters play — 

From every island, mountain, plain, 

Till earth be levelled low ; 
And Ocean threatens with his waves 

Her face to overflow. 

Then rest ten thousand thousand years 

By millions multiplied, 
And then the weary work begin 

To empty out the tide, 

By one small drop each thousand years, 

(Until the whole are dry,) 
From every stream to which the earth 

Affords a full supply;— 



92 



From all the bays, and lakes, and seas, 

Till water's nowhere found, 
And parching dryness withers up 

The desolated ground. 

Then rest ten thousand thousand years 

By millions multiplied, 
Till all the substance of the earth 

To powdered dust is dried: 

Then bear away, each thousand years, 

A particle so small 
That eye cannot discern its size, 

Till thou'st removed it all. 

In all this fearful lapse of time, 

Would it not seem to thee 
That thou hadst measured out the length 

Of an eternity ? 

Yet, when thou hadst, with angel's strength. 
This mighty labour done, 



93 



Its end would be as far as when 
Thy labour was begun ! 

Eternity! eternity! — 

My God ! thou know'st, alone, 
The vastness of eternity — 

Thine empire's corner-stone ! 

My trembling soul ! art thou amazed 

At this appalling view? 
Be comforted — in Christ there is 

Eternal mercy too! 



94 



THE PRINTER. 

A mental lamp hung out by life's wayside; 

Unnoticed; yet his unpretending ray 

Shines clearly on man's intellectual way, 
And proves to pilgrims an unfailing guide. 
He hath within a worthy sort of pride, 

And knows his worth, though some allow it 
not: 

A heart and thinking mind above his lot 
'Mong men are his. His coffers ill-supplied, 

Yet want and virtue seldom ask in vain: 

Nor is his life exempt from various pain; 
Few days are his— the rose that freshly bloomed 

On boyhood's cheek assumes the hue of death; 

The oil of life within him soon consumed, 
E'er two score years and ten he yields his vital 
breath. 



95 



THE SABBATH HAS COME. 

Hallowed day of sacred rest, 
Welcome, welcome to my breast: 
Yearningly I've sighed to feel 
Bliss thine hours alone reveal. 

Aching temples, throb no more ; 
Busy care, thy reign is o'er; 
Troublous thoughts, flee far away 
From this quiet resting-day. 

Faith's anticipations, rise ! 
Leap the barriers to the skies: 
Upward soar, my soul, to Him 
Loved by saint and seraphim. 

Thankful praise, my lips employ- 
Utter all my rapturous joy: — 
Though o'er all things silence come, 
Can a ransomed soul be dumb ? 



96 THE SABBATH HAS COME. 

Priceless moments! rich and sweet- 
Happy soul! at Jesus' feet, 
Rest, oh rest ! — when He is near, 
Lovingly, hast thou a fear? 

Master ! lowly here I lie — 
Look on me with gracious eye ; 
Lay thy yoke of love on me, 
Easy shall the burden be ! 

Saviour! may thy Sabbaths come 
Laden with the hope of home: 
On the day thy grace has given, 
Fit me for thyself and heaven. 



97 



JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 

When God commands, who disobey 
Shall find his arm more strong than they ; 
But they who turn at mercy's voice 
Shall in his tender love rejoice. 

God's ancient prophet thought to flee, 
And took his passage o'er the sea: 
He feared to tread in duty's path, 
And sought to 'scape his Maker's wrath. 

God caused the mighty winds to blow, 
And dashed the vessel to and fro; 
The waves across the frail ship swept, 
And terror on the seamen crept. 

They fell upon their bended knees, 
And prayed unto their deities ; 
9 



98 JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 

But still the shrieking storm-wind blew, 
And terribly the vessel flew ! 

Though by the raging tempest swept, 
Behold the hardened prophet slept! 
" Arise, thou sleeper!" loud they say, 
" Call on thy God ! — arise, and pray." 

The prophet felt that God was near, 
And now confessed his guilty fear : 
To still the waves raised by his sin, 
He bade the seamen cast him in. 

The Lord still loves his erring child, 
Though Satan hath his soul beguiled: 
He bade a dweller of the deep, 
The disobedient prophet keep. 

The prophet's soul within him died; 
Repentant to the Lord he cried, 
Who made the fish draw nigh to land, 
And cast the prophet on the strand. 



JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 99 

Obedient to Jehovah's will, 

He hastes his duty to fulfil: 

" Within three days, and Nineveh 

Deep overwhelmed in death shall be !" 

The monarch heard the prophet cry, — 
His haughty soul was loth to die; — 
And e'en the meanest soul was stirred, 
When that portentous voice he heard. 

All joy and gladness put away, 
The city robed in sackcloth lay: 
Yea, from the king beneath his throne, 
Down to the beggar, grief was known. 

The Lord — (I love his blessed Name ! 
I often feel he's still the same) — 
The Lord, who loves not to condemn, 
Did turn his wrath away from them. 

The prophet waited long to see 
The vast destruction that should be ; 



100 JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 

And he was grieved that they were spared, 
Though he, too, had God's mercy shared! 

Ah! surely none would mercy feel, 
If God should with his creatures deal 
As they act often towards each other, 
Though each man is to each a brother ! 



101 



TOBACCO'S VICTIM. 

His shrivelled skin, stretched o'er his brittle hones 
And shrunken muscles, hound his frame to- 
gether, 
Till Death's keen blast offswept him like a 
feather 
That 's tempest-driven in the torrid zones. 

He spat his life away; and left his heirs — 
A hapless widow and her babes forlorn — 
In widowhood and orphanage to mourn, 

And sigh, and sink beneath a flood of cares. 
If one should ask, where his remains repose? 

Be this the answer— Everywhere around, 
Where'er the smoke of his cigar arose, 

There may his heart, his lungs, his all be found. 
His wasted carcass fills a nameless tomb — 
His soul has gone, uncalled, to meet its change- 
less doom! 

9* 



102 



TO A RAT, CAUGHT IN OUR PRINTING OFFICE. 

Thou long -tailed, ebon-eyed, nocturnal ranger! 

What led thee hither 'mongthe types and cases? 

Didst thou not know that running midnight races 
O'er standing types is fraught with imm'nent 

danger? 
Did hunger lead thee? didst thou think to find 

Some rich old cheese to fill thy hungry maw? 

Vain hope! none but a literary jaw 
Can masticate our cookery for the mind. 
Perchance thou hast a literary taste, 

A love for letters, and that sort of thing ; 

But why, thou wire-tailed imp — thou vermin- 
king ! 
Didst thou but yesternight devour our paste, 

And throw our types in pyramids of pi ? 

Thy doom's decreed !— .here, Towser! at him 
fly! 



103 



THE OLD MAN'S HYMN. 

The day is wearing fast away, 

The night is coming on, 
To end my mortal pilgrimage, 

Begun at early dawn. 

No voice of early friends I hear 

Within my soul to reach ; 
Another world hath round me grown, 

Earth hath another speech. 

Men look on me with wondering gaze, 
As if their tongues would cry, 

"Art thou still wandering here, old man? 
'Tis time for thee to die." 

And fain I am to die, when He 
Who sent me here shall call : 

I wait his gentle breath to cause 
The ancient tree to fall. 



104 THE OLD MAN'S HYMN. 

I long to lay my burden down, 
And in earth's bosom rest, 

As calmly as an infant sleeps 
Upon its mother's breast. 

Welcome, approaching shades of even, 
By idling triflers shunned! 

I see the immortal life of heaven, 
And Christ, my God, beyond! 



105 



THE LAW OF THE LIPS. 

Speak kindly to thy fellow-man, 
Lest he should die, while yet 

Thy bitter accents wring his heart, 
And make his eyelid wet. 

Speak tenderly to him; for he 
Hath many toils to bear ; 

And he is weak, and often sighs — 
As thou dost — under care. 

Speak lovingly to him ; he is 
A brother of thine own : 

He well may claim thy sympathies 
Who's bone of thine own bone. 

Speak meekly to him; he may be 
A holier man than thou, 

And fitting it may be for thee 
To him with reverence bow. 



106 THE LAW OF THE LIPS. 

Speak solemnly to him ; for thou 
And he must surely meet, 

To make account for idle words, 
Before the judgment-seat. 

Speak faithfully to him ; thy word 
May touch him deep within, 

And save his erring soul from death, 
And cover o'er his sin ! 

Speak unto him as thou wouldst have 
Thy brother speak to thee; 

For thou art to all men akin, 
Whoever thou mayst be. 



107 



ON THE DEATH OF JAMES G. EATON, 

Late a Ruling Elder in the Third Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia. 

"A brother's gone!" we sadly cry, 

While weeping o'er his dust : 
"A brother's come!" the saints reply, 

In mansions of the just. 
Thus, while our souls are rent and riven, 
Rejoicings thrill the hosts of heaven ! 

His mortal eye in death is dim — 

All silently he lies ; 
His soul has soared to join the hymn 

Of glory in the skies. 
His body lying 'neath the sod, 
His spirit satisfied with God! 

His homestead has a silent floor ; 
His loved ones softly tread; 



108 JAMES G. EATON. 

They cannot feel that he's no more, 

Although he's with the dead ! 
He walks on Zion's holy hill, 
Yet thinks of them, and loves them still. 

He spoke of Zion's golden streets — 

He gladly treads them now: 
What wondrous sights and sounds he meets- 

What glories crown his brow ! 
What here he brightly dream'd of — there 
He finds, beyond his dreamings, fair! 

Sweet home! My brother, thou art there, 

To strike a golden string! 
What music floats upon the air 

Where God supreme is King ! 
Oh, may we hear those melting strains 
That flood with bliss the heavenly plains! 



109 



"HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP." 

In fearful anguish once I lay, 

And every tender string of life 
Was rudely smitten by disease, 

And nature quivered in the strife. 
To God I looked for help the while — 

The lingering moments seemed to creep, 
And this sweet truth broke on my mind, 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

A gentle peace, like evening winds 
In summer from the ocean's breast, 

Moved o'er my sighing, sinking soul, 
And soothed my murmuring griefs to rest; 

And through that weary night of pain, 
When it were manliness to weep, 

My soul was comforted by this — 

"He giveth his beloved sleep." 
10 



110 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 

When prison'd long, my soul would fain 

Leap through her fragile walls and flee- 
But on the unmeasured life beyond, 

She, halting, gazes tremblingly ; 
Then could I simply trust in Him, 

Whose arms his feeblest follower keep, 
And close mine eyes, and say, in death, 

" He giveth his beloved sleep !" 



Ill 



UNCEASING PRAYER. 

The voice of prayer upriseth constantly 
From mortal man to his Redeemer, God : 
Where'er the sun, in shining sandals shod, 

Speeds o'er the busy land or lonely sea, 
Some chosen ones, awakened by its light 
From soothing dreams and slumbers of the night, 

Leap from their couch, and bend to Him in prayer, 
Adore His mercy, and confess their sins:— 

The lip of one is scarcely silent, e'er 
Some brother-worshipper his plaint begins :— • 

The slave looks up with mute prayer in his eye ; 
The worn and weary pray ; yea, everywhere 

The Lord inclines to man's imploring cry ; 
And earth is girdled alway with a zone of 
prayer. 



112 



IN HONOUR OF THE GALLANT TROOP, 

Who victoriously put to flight a detachment of Sunday-school children, 
at 10 minutes past 3 o'clock, (or thereabouts,) of the afternoon of the 
23d of May, 1842. 

In pomp and circumstance of war, 

The valiant troopers came : 
Each warrior had a shining sword — 

Each nose was red as flame! 

The children of the realm of peace 

Were passing slow along, 
When swiftly came these fighting men — 

These warriors big and strong ! 

Right valiantly they rode among 

The frighten'd youthful band, 
And one brave trooper drew his sword 

And — held it in his hand ! 



THE &ALLANT TROOP. 113 

The children hither, thither fled — 
The women shrieked from fright; 

The horsemen then rode proudly on 
In their majestic might. 

Oh, victory of victories ! 

Oh, that I had a pen 
Pluck' d from some goose or gander's wing, 

To praise these noble men! 

Methinks I see this selfsame troop 

Drawn up in grim array 
Before a little town, wherein 

The children are at play: 

Whose fathers far from home have gone 

In freedom's cause to fight — 
Whose mothers, in their evening prayers, 

Remember them aright. 

Methinks I see them bravely charge, 

And smite the striplings down; 

10* 



114 THE GALLANT TROO?. 

Frighten the mothers into fits, 
And sack the little town. 

Methinks then news is brought to them 

On rumour's flying car, 
The fathers are returning fast 

Victorious from afar! 

Methinks this troop — this selfsame troop, 
Grow pale and stiff as starch, 

As helter skelter they begin 
A retrograding march ! 

Then wo betide the hapless frogs 

Who dare to lift a croak; 
Ye nimble imps, dive deep, or ye 

Shall fall beneath their stroke ! 

Puissant warriors— glorious corps ! 

I've heard of such as ye — 
But never thought these fading eyes 

The glorious sight should see! 



THE GALLANT TROOP. 115 

Old Milton tells of some, who, on 

"The Alpine mountains cold, 
The mother with her infant" down 

The precipices rolPd! 

But little dreamed I that the race 

Had reached to modern days; 
Eureka! let the nation shout 

Their deep undying praise. 



116 



TO L. JOHNSON, ESQ. 

My constant friend, the years have swiftly sped, 

Since, from mine early, sweetly-thought-of 
home, 

My trusting footsteps hitherward did roam 
To seek from Heaven my meed of daily bread. 

My bud of youth just opening into man, 
And yet unfruitful, — thou didst wisely prune 
My wild luxuriance; and my manhood's noon 

Of sober thought approvest well thy plan. 
When I review the eventful path I trod, 

And mark His guiding providence to me, 
I lift mine eyes in gratitude to God, 

And turn a thought of thankfulness to thee. 
Through all my course this lesson hath been 

plain — 
Who looks in faith to Heaven shall never look 
in vain. 



117 



ENTHUSIASM! 

If, as I sunk beneath the wave, 

Exhausted, helpless, wan, and cold, 
One should plunge in, my life to save, 

And with a vigorous grasp uphold 
My head above the watery death, 

And bear me safely to the shore, 
And then should lose his vital breath, 

And sink, himself, to rise no more, — 
If I refused to grave his name 

In living letters on my heart, 
Would not the world condemn to shame 

My soul for acting such a part?— 

Lo! I was sinking in a sea 

That bordered on the shores of hell, 
Whose waters, as they rose on me, 

I tasted, and I loved them well: — 



118 ENTHUSIASM. 

(For he who hath these waters quaffed 

Forgets the value of his soul, 
And while he drinks a deeper draught, 

Perdition's waves above him roll:) — 
But One alone had strength to grasp 

My sinking soul from that dread sea; 
His arms around me he did clasp — 

It cost his life to rescue me! 

And yet, if I reprove the sin 

That brings reproach on Jesus' fame, 
Full soon unthinking crowds begin 

To link "Enthusiast!" with my name. 
And if I strive to live above 

The sordidness of worldly things, 
And show that I my Saviour love, 

They aim at me envenomed stings. 

Ah! if they hated me because 

So little gratitude I show 
To Him whose just and holy laws 

Their sure protection o'er me throw; 



ENTHUSIASM. 119 

Then might I bear their scorn and spite 
In meekness, answering not a word; 

Then might I own it was but right 
Their indignation should be stirred. 

O Jesus! what a heart is mine, 

That can forget— so often, too— - 
The condescending act of thine, 

Which my soul from perdition drew! 
The grace must surely be as much 

Which bears with my ingratitude, 
As that which prompted Thee to touch 

My soul when sinking in the flood! 

Bear with me still, my pitying Lord! 

Drive not my soul away from thee; 
My hope is in Thee, and thy word, 

Which often is most sweet to me. 



120 



LONELINESS. 

Alone ! My soul doth never feel alone ! 

From tender childhood to this hurrying hour, 

God hath indued me with a potent power 
Of calling spirits from a realm unknown, 

With whom I hold communings sweet and free. 
This life hath never been a cumbrous chain 
For me to drag with heaviness and pain; 

But Time hath sped on feathery wings with me. 
My thoughts to me are sweeter than my bread ; 
And when my lips have lacked, my mind hath fed 

Luxuriously, as if it were a king. 
And when the Lord hath smiled upon my way, 
Fve walked in heaven on many a glorious day 

While yet on earth my feet were wandering! 



121 



THE DEATHLESS SMILE. 

1 saw one in her maidenhood 
From whom the life had fled, 

And yet so lovely was her face 
It seemed she was not dead! 

Her eyelids as in sleep were closed, 
Her hrow was white like snow; 

A smile still lingered on her cheeks 
As if 'twas loth to go ! 

And it may "be, a smile so sweet, 

So quiet and serene, 
Was never on the healthy brow 

Of living maiden seen. 

Perchance the wondrous bliss which burst 

Upon her raptured mind, 

When first she woke in glory's courts, 

Now left its trace behind. 
11 



122 THE DEATHLESS SMILE. 

Her end was peace. I thought that they 
Who loved her should not grieve, 

For these last words they heard her say, 
"My spirit, Lord! receive." 

And when they laid her in the earth, 
Her cheek still held the bloom; 

That smile so sweet the gentle maid 
Bore with her to the tomb! 

Would it be strange if brighter tints 

Upon the flowers crept, 
Which grew above the sacred spot 

Where that meek maiden slept? 



123 



THE GREAT DAY- 

The shivered skies flee fast away; and flame 
And smoke burst out, and horrid noises roar 
As if a burning sea surged on the shore, 

And racked old Nature's perishable frame. 
Creation shudders ; and the trembling sun 

Turns red like blood, and casts a crimson glare 

Throughout the heaving billows of the air ; 
The moon and stars, as if affrighted, run 

In wild confusion ; while the trump of God 
Resounds, and all the dead are called to life, 

And— hushed at once the elemental strife — 
In solemn stillness men await his nod. 

Ah, day of doom ! Redeemer ! Brother ! Friend ! 

Protect thine own— whose hopes on Thee depend! 



124 



THE FATHER TO HIS FAMILY. 

Come here, my angel-hearted child! 
Come, push aside the ringlets wild 
That hide thy brow, where peace hath smiled 

Since ever thou wert born! 
Come, I would kiss thy modest cheek, 
Whereon the roses seem to seek 
Unto thy father's heart to speak, 

To cheer him when he's worn. 

Come, too, my pretty, prattling one, 
Whose tottering footsteps feebly run 
To catch the rays of golden sun 

That stream across the floor ! 
Come, sit upon thy father's knee, 
And crow and carol merrily, 
And shout aloud with infant glee!— • 

What can I wish for more ? 



THE FATHER TO HIS FAMILY. 125 

Come thou, sweet wife ! — Come, sit beside 
These cherub ones, our honest pride ! 
Here in my bosom fondly hide 

The blush of love ; and vow 
To God who hears the raven's cry, 
The parent's prayer, the orphan's sigh, 
And pray that He be ever nigh 

To save and bless, as now. 

Who owns a portion, o'er the earth, 
That hath a higher, nobler worth 
Than his, who round his cheerful hearth 

His best-beloved ones spies, — 
All peaceful, blest — no angry storms 
To beat upon their tender forms; 
While love to God their bosoms warms, 

And fits them for the skies ! 



11* 



126 



THE POET'S VISITER. 

I sing for mine own pleasure, more than name 
Or money's worth ; and he who lists may read 
Or not, as pleases him: my gospel-creed 

Allows to all the equal rights I claim. 
Within the inner chambers of my mind 

There cometh oftentimes a visiter, 

Whose loveliness surpasseth human-kind— 

I sing the mysteries that I learn of her. 
I'm captive to her beauteousness ; her spell 

Is potent. Miserable man were I 

To slight a being whom I love so well, 

Or pass her wooings unregarded by. 

While my Great Maker sends me such a guest, 

I'll tell what pleasant thoughts she wakens in 
my breast. 



127 



JUVENILE HYMN. 

Who bids the soft wind blow? 

Who bids the bright sun shine? 
The flowers and grass that grow 
Around this path of mine ? 
Who makes these shady trees arise, 
And spread their boughs beneath the skies? 

Who makes this brook, so bright, 
From earth's cold bosom spring, 
And sparkle in the light, 
And sweetly, sweetly sing — 
As if an angel lent his voice 
To help the rippling stream rejoice ? 

Who gave the airy bird 

Soft feathers and swift wings, 

And taught it music-words 
To charm us when it sings? — 



128 JUVENILE HYMN. 

Say, little bird! who taught you how 
To sing so sweetly on that bough? 

O, 'tis our Father, God, 

Who gives us every thing— 
The grass, the flowery sod, 

The brook, and birds that sing; 
And all the blessings of this day 
He sheds upon our happy way. 

How good is God! He gave 

His only Son to die, 
Our souls from death to save, 
And fit us for the sky! 
O, let us bow, and serve Him here 
With gratitude and love sincere. 



129 



MY FATHER BLESSED ME. 

My father raised his trembling hand, 
And placed it on my head: 

"God's blessing be on thee, my son!" 
Most tenderly he said. 

He died, and left no gems nor gold, 

But still was I his heir — 
For that rich blessing which he gave 

Became a fortune rare. 

And in my day of weary toil 

To earn my daily bread, 
It gladdens me in thought to feel 

His hand upon my head. 

Though infant tongues to me have said 
"Dear father!" oft since then, 

Yet when I bring that scene to mind, 
I'm but a child again. 



130 



REMEMBER THE POOR! 

Remember the Poor! 
It fearfully snoweth, 
And bitterly bloweth; 

Thou couldst not endure 

The tempest's wild power 
Through night's dreary hour, 

Then pity the poor ! 

Remember the poor! 

The father is lying 

In that hovel, dying 
With sickness of heart. 

No voice cheers his dwelling, 

Of Jesus' love telling, 
Ere life shall depart. 

Remember the poor! 

The widow is sighing, 
The orphans are crying, 



REMEMBER THE POOR. 131 

Half starving for bread; 

In mercy be speedy 

To succour the needy, — 
Their helper is dead ! 

Remember the poor! 

The baby is sleeping, 

Its cheeks wet with weeping, 
On its mother's fond breast; 

Whose cough, deep and hollow, 

Foretells she'll soon follow 
Her husband to rest! 

Remember the poor! 

To him who aid lendeth, 

Whatever he spendeth 
The Lord will repay; 

And sweet thoughts shall cheer him, 

And God's love be near him, 
In his dying day! 



132 



THE HYMNS MY MOTHER SUNG. 

There are to me no hymns more sweet 
Than those my mother sung, 

When joyously around her feet 
Her little children clung. 

The baby in its cradle slept — 
My mother sang the while ; — 

What wonder if there softly crept 
Across his lips a smile ? 

And I, a sick and pensive boy, — 
Oppressed with many pains, — 

Oft felt my bosom thrill with joy 
To hear her soothing strains. 

The stealing tear mine eye bedims, 

My heart is running o'er, — 
The music of a mother's hymns 

Shall comfort me no more ! 



133 



THE DRUNKEN MOTHER'S CHILD. 

A tender infant-girl 

Lay in her shroud and coffin; 
Her cheeks were like the pearl, 
For tears had washed them often. 
Ah me ! her lot was sad and wild,— 
She was a drunken mother's child. 

Some children seem, when dead, 

As though they were hut sleeping; 
But her eyes, in her head 
Were sunken, as if weeping 
Had emptied out the fount of life 
In streams of agony and strife. 

Her fingers were as thin 

As starving want could make them — 

Mere bones encased in skin— 

The feeblest strain might break them; 
12 



134 THE DRUNKEN MOTHER^ CHILD. 

That wasted form her sorrows told, 
As she lay there so pale and cold. 

Her time was short; — who'd wept 
Had time with her been shorter? 
God's love on her was kept — 
He claimed his suffering daughter,- 
His goodness bade the child to die, 
His mercy took her to the sky. 

So delicate a flower 

Should have a kindly keeper:— 
Say, who — had 'he the power — 
Would wake the little sleeper, — 
Recall her from her home above, 
To live where she had none to love? 

Oh! quietly she rests, 

In heaven sweetly singing; 

Those hands with joy are pressed 
That, yesterday, were wringing 



THE DRUNKEN MOTHER'S CHILD. 135 

In helplessness and utter woe, 
Beneath a mother's cruel blow. 

No more she'll shed a tear 
Of bitterness and sorrow, 
Nor tremble with the fear 
Of suffering to-morrow; 
The anguish past that filled her breast, 
Her weary soul is now at rest. 



136 

ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE 

DAYID WHITE CULVER. 

A lovely, fragile flower, 

Just bursting into bloom, — 
It lived through Winter's bitterest hour, 
Unb lighted by its withering power, 

To find in Spring a tomb ! 

We hoped that Summer's rays 
Its blossoms would expand — 
That God would give it many days 
To bloom in beauty to his praise — 
The product of his hand. 

But it hath passed away ; — 

Yet life is in its root, 
And 'neath the skies of cloudless day 
'Twill grow in glorious array, 

And yield immortal fruit. 



137 



THE DYING MAN. 

I saw a sick man die 

A long and lingering death, 

For nature struggled hard to keep 
Her grasp upon his breath. 

Amid the noisy day, 
His pains abated not;— 

His couch was downy, yet thereon 
He found no resting spot. 

Throughout the dark still night 
He counted every stroke 

That told the hour, as solemnly 
Upon the ear it broke. 

The weary hours wore on, 

And night succeeded day, 

As almost imperceptibly 

His life-breath ebbed away. 
12* 



138 THE DYING MAN. 

Whene'er I came, he turned 

His meek, imploring eye 
To where I stood, and seemed to ask 

For pitying sympathy. 

Yet when I spoke a word, 

And he would fain reply, 
A spasm often made him shriek 

An agonizing cry. 

'Twas not on man he called 

In his extremity: 
"Thy will, O Lord! not mine be done!" 

This was his only plea. 

"Dear Jesus!" he would say, 
"Sweet Saviour!" "Precious Lord!" 

He spoke them oft, as though he found 
A charm in every word. 

My heart was touched — I wept, — 
For I could not control 



THE DYING MAN. 139 

The floods his meekness bade arise 
Within my melting soul. 

Oft as I left his side, 

And made a parting prayer, 
I thought it was the last request 

In which on earth he'd share. 

But still he lived, till hope 

To our sad bosoms came, 
That God would still enrobe with health 

His meager, shrunken frame. 

One day he stronger grew, 

He felt no more of pain, 
He slept, and in his sleep he sighed — 

And did not wake again! 



140 



THE WOUNDED BIRD. 

She sat upon a cedar bough, 
Her head beneath her wing-, 

And swayed in anguish to and fro, 
A wounded, dying thing. 

Ah, hapless bird! her day of song 
And blithesomeness was o'er ; 

A wanton youth had stained her breast 
And downy plumes with gore. 

Her merry mates were calling her; 

She not a note replied, 
But bore her sufferings silently, 

And, unrepining, died. 

And life, and light, and happiness 
Were clustered in the wood 

Wherein that uncomplaining bird 
So perished in her blood. 



141 

ON HEARING A SERMON BY THE 

REV. DE. ELY. 

Again mine ears drink in the flowing tide 
Of tones more sweet than if an angel spoke; 
In days long gone, that voice my spirit woke 

From dreams of folly, vanity, and pride. 
The chain that bound me to earth's pleasures 
broke, 

(Which once I loved as if there were none 
other,) 

I learned that man to every man was brother, 
And on my neck Christ laid his easy yoke. 

New life was mine — a holier course begun, 
I loved — and love — my teacher as a son. 
Let coward Slander rear its venomed crest, 

And seek to sting in some unguarded place, 
Still God's good hand shall shield him by his grace, 
And they shall love him most who've known him 
long and best. 



142 



THE DEAF. 

i. 

The deaf do live alone. In all the earth 
There is no helpmeet found for them; within 
One circle is their empire bound; no din 

Invades the temple of their mind; — the mirth 
And sighs of men are sounds to them unknown, 
Though well they know the spirit's inward 
groan ; 

And mortal agonies belong to them 
As well as to their fellow men ; for death 
Hath passed on all who draw the vital breath, 

And where sin is, there doth the law condemn. 

Ah, hapless men! relentless silence keeps 
Her watchpost at the portals of the ear; 
No heavenly word or sound approacheth near, 

And music's melting influence in lasting stillness 
sleeps. 



THE DEAF. 143 

II. 

To them, the tongue of Nature speaketh not 

When on the earth her holy voice is heard ; 
The sighing winds that haunt the shady grot — 

The murmuring brook — the merry singing-bird, 
Are mute to them. They have not learned how- 
sweet 

Are human tones when kindness tunes the 
voice, 

Nor how a word may make the heart rejoice, 
And change its sadness into bliss complete. 

From all things audible debarred, they live 
In lonely isolation, each apart: 

Yet not for ever ! Christ in heaven shall give 
The hearing ear to all the pure in heart. 
With what delight the music of the spheres 
Shall fill their rapt and newly-gifted ears ! 



144 



TIME FLIES. 

Like a river flowing 

To a boundless sea, 
Time is swiftly going 

To eternity. 
Waking or sleeping, 

Moments fly: 
Smiling or weeping, 

All must die. 



THE END. 



WIS 














%. *• 


















"W 







• • ♦ ^ 



•^** 4.0° V "*fv^' t \^' 









rv. °i 



0^ 



VV 






^ : $*++ l -Wm?; J°+ "IBS ] 



4?* •i%"^ '" V^.\'""/.i 






V" 
















<> ''I 



"^ 



4' 



A Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 

V *5^ic>tr>?+ ^^ <0 Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 

<t> Srf^Sa5%fev < " *^a. A*^ *" Treatment Date: 




W 



♦ "^O A^ 0°"°" ^ 

^% °^ A ^ ^:^d^ ^ 




PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, LP. 
111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 






°*,^3 






<* * 






o * « 







/>'^-* 




* -y 






.**, 



<£, • 




o* .•-.. % 






V v t < 



V^«fe%^'«) 






1 V^vV *T ^ 






*P^ 















O, *o ♦ * * A 



— $ 



°, '•. 














%> 






♦ v : 














.^ 



'* & &> * a 

















WERT 
BOOKBINDING f 

Grantville. Pa. 

Nov Occ 1988 

we 't Q"»'- °~ 












?/^X^W^'.^\/-J 



'*♦ <i 



<y o°»°* *<$> 



c° ^>^>% °q... ^ /^ai* ^ 



